Agent of Chaos
by kysis-the-bard
Summary: A drabble/character study of the Joker. Tell me how I did.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters related to Batman, the Dark Knight, or any of that. Thank DC Comics for their amazing presence. I just write fanfic.

**Warnings:** insanity, dark themes, morbidity, scary stuff, violence, did I mention insanity?

**Author's Note:** Watching the Dark Knight again. I've really been having trouble wrapping my head around the Joker. I didn't think I could ever write as him, because I don't understand him. Watched the movie again, and all of a sudden… I just want to write a drabble from the Joker's POV. So here it is. Don't shoot me if it sucks. Harvey Dent is more my pace… So, tell me how I did?

**AGENT OF CHAOS**

It was meticulous, how he did it. Everything had to be perfect, and yet, at the same time, surprising. Shocking. They would never suspect. Licking his lips, his eyes trailed over the plan, raking across the jagged, lopsided handwriting which jumped to and fro between letters, words, erratic yet pointed. The little stick figures here and there were perfect.

Rubbing his lips together, feeling the greasy red lipstick transfer back and force, he crumbled up the piece of paper, tossing it into the corner as he stood fluidly. His steps were off kilter, but he knew exactly where he was placing each foot. The swagger to his body made him look clumsy, but he was far from it. It was better they think that way.

They would never expect it.

Chaos and yet… not quite.

With a slow, dragging motion, he pulled the mask across the empty table, picking it up as he passed it by. It was a street corner they were picking him up on. Early morning, sunny day, during the week when children would be going to school: it was the least suspected time of the day. Normally the night was feared, but not with the Batman. No. He ruined that. Playtime was during the day now.

People just passed by. Everything in their days went according to plan. Stop at this light, go at this one, park here, work there. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Yet.

The van pulled up right on time, and the rubber mask was already hugging his face, choking it. Sweat collected against his skin, held there. His face paint was a thick paste, sludge, collecting in a crease here, dribbling down a valley there. It wasn't his intention for the make-up, but it made it all the more delightful. He licked his lips, waiting in silence.

They would know his voice. He couldn't speak.

With the way the guys were talking in the front, they were absolutely clueless. It took all his effort not to laugh. His laugh would be the last one. That was the plan, at least.

There would already be two men on the roof, waiting at the security system. They would cut it before it could go off. One would kill the other. He could almost see it in his head. He bounced on the seat, scarred grin hidden by his mask. It was almost time.

The door flew open, and he was out, in the hall of the opulent bank, setting off shots into that beautiful ceiling. Someone was going to be pissed. Someone was indeed. That silent alarm… He closed his eyes for a moment, listening. He couldn't hear the gunshot of the first man down, but damn did he want to imagine it.

Moving quickly, body rocking between his steps, he yanked open the bag, pulling out lovely little presents for all of their friends to hold. Friends, victims, it made no difference. What was happening to them right now was against society's normal plan for them, and, so predictable society was, it would be appalled. So rich. It was a mob bank! If the public knew that nice little tidbit, they wouldn't be sobbing so hard.

A gunshot rang out, shotgun, couldn't miss that sound. Feet sliding at first, he scrambled behind a counter, waiting for a moment as another shot went off before he ran to the next one. The shotgun pumped, and right as he was ducking behind the next bit of shelter, _right_ then, the shotgun went off again. The pump gave him time to scurry some more. Like a bug away from a flood.

He had one shot left and was waiting. Damn.

And then the opportunity presented itself.

Change of plans.

He nodded after a moment, pretending thought. It was so easy to fake it. That was life. Fake this, fake that, do this, do that. Ha. Like they believed it. It didn't kill the guy though, which was a problem. He'd have to find another way.

Change of plans.

Jumping up, he pulled the trigger, licking his lips to suppress the laugh again. Oh, the hilarity. He just, could barely bottle it up, it was boiling in his throat, ready to spill out.

Soon enough. Money bags were getting brought down, meaning the vault guy was dead. That was nice.

He was meticulous for a reason.


End file.
